


Write Off The Rules

by wreckofherheart



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I don't think laziness suits you.' [Peggy/Natasha – WWII AU ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Write Off The Rules

She's home later than usual.

The door is unlocked.

Ajar.

This time, it's not a threat. She doesn't reach over for her gun, her knife, whatever weapon she can find. Delicately, she places her palm against the splintering wood, eases open the door. Instantly she catches sight of the jacket, a dark blue, strewn across the bannister. One heavy, aged boot carelessly left on its side. She finds the other at the entrance to her kitchen.

None of the lights are on.

Except one. The room at the back. A lamp, on her desk, classified documents neatly filed, a half-written letter, pen atop. Slippers beneath the desk. Small clock at the corner of the desk –– it's nearly midnight. She's been at the office too long, but what does it matter? They don't notice her. They don't care if she's the first to arrive, and the last to leave.

It's a man's world out there; she doesn't stand a chance.

On the mantlepiece, one of her framed photographs has been moved. Slightly. Someone has picked up the photograph, studied, and then returned it. No harm caused. A scarf, too, has been disturbed. Held close to her lover's scarred face, her sweet scent inhaled, a little perfume, a little of her lilac hand cream, a little whiskey, a little  _her._ Calming, warming, and that's all it takes for her to feel safe, protected, hidden.

She doesn't know how long her lover has waited. Probably seconds. Probably minutes.

Probably hours.

A black jumper is crumpled on the floor. She has been careless. She has been exhausted. She has been desperate. This is the only place where she can peel away every garment, flung each aside, without fear of someone watching her back. This is the only place where her femininity is not scowled at; the only place she truly feels happy. A gun rests on the table.

The creak of her floorboard.

Someone is behind her.

For the first time in months,  _months_ , Peggy is relieved to have company.

And not just any company ––  _her_  company.

A year and a half is just too long.

There's a glass in her hand, of whiskey possibly. Her blouse is loose. Untucked. She looks scruffy. There's an ugly gash across her cheek. A bruise at her collarbone. Her hair is longer, a little wild; Peggy has always liked it long. The way she fiddles with it when she's lost in thought, pulls, curls her hair around her finger. Flashes that mischievous, yet beautiful smirk at her.

Natasha is leaning against the doorframe. And she's obviously tired, and obviously waited a very long time for Peggy to come back.

'You didn't call,' Peggy remarks, half sincere, half not.

'I had the spare key,' Natasha says, and just to confirm, she holds up a set of keys, before shoving them back into her pocket.

'Ah. I wondered where those went.'

'You didn't search very hard for them.'

'True.' Peggy smiles crookedly. 'Maybe I'm just getting lazy.'

'Mm.' Natasha cocks a brow. Exhales, and lowers her glass of whiskey. She frowns momentarily. Shakes her head. 'I don't think laziness suits you.'

It's doubtful Natasha will reveal the details about her mission.

It's doubtful Peggy will reveal the details about the war. Her side of things, who's winning who, whether Germany now grins over this bloodthirsty battle –– right now, it's almost  _hopeless_. They fight, tackle, retaliate, and for what? The mountainous deaths, wounded soldiers, screaming for their loved ones to hold them until death gives them a final release.

For sure, this world is ungodly.

Sometimes they seem to be fighting different wars. Natasha is gone for months at a time, and Peggy constantly returns to an empty apartment.

She never finds it easy to admit she spends some nights wide awake,  _hoping_  she's okay. That a few tears may slip, that maybe all she can do is press her pillow to her face, just to shield her fragility, her weakness, her sorest moments.

She never finds it easy to accept Natasha feels the exact same way.

No words are necessary. Natasha doesn't have to speak, doesn't have to make any sort of motion, doesn't have to remind her why she is here.

Peggy's touch is soft against her cheek. Natasha succumbs slightly. Her knees are weak, and the glass nearly slips from her fingertips. The labour of work strikes; it's a colossal hit to her breaking bones. She's familiar with her again, how her warmth beckons Natasha closer, how her love has remained faithful all of these months, untainted and so  _loyal_.

It's been hard. Really hard, out there, in that cold,  _cold_  life.

'You're right about that.'

Natasha offers a crooked smile. Her eyes squint a little, in amusement, in adoration.

'See? I am starting to get to know you.'

'Maybe so.'

Just to be sure this is real, this isn't another dream, this isn't another game of waiting, Natasha's thumb gently brushes over Peggy's lower lip, trailing past her chin, stopping just above her chest. She fiddles with the thin chain of her necklace, is conscious of Peggy pulling her in, her arms soft and gentle around her waist. They collapse into each other, and Natasha loses all sense of control. She  _relaxes_ , allows her body to envelop in her lover's warmth, her comfort and promise; she's already starting to heal.

Closing her eyes, she rests, drops her act.

And, remembers,  _oh,_   _this is what it's like to feel alive_.

Briefly, only briefly, they come apart. Peggy kisses the corner of Natasha's mouth, to which she welcomes, leans into her, feels her heart  _skip_ , turns her head just so their lips can touch. Peggy holds her face between her hands, holding Natasha there,  _like this_ , a moment longer, and kisses her for as long as she needs. Until the pain goes away, until she's safe, until she's stopped peering over her shoulder, until she's okay, content, and home.

It's enough, it's plenty.

Wonderful.


End file.
